


Remembering The Fall

by wanderryn



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventures, Being Lost, F/M, Flashbacks, Memory Loss, Werewolves, new life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3444179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderryn/pseuds/wanderryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elorriath Ivyvale can't remember anything about herself except for her name, so with the help of a man who claims to have been her lover, she takes a trek through the whole of Skyrim trying to recover her past. Follow along with her as she finds old friends and enemies and even learns that she may be more important than anyone had ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Was Cold

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a fanfic for such a big world, so I hope that I pull this off successfully. Any feedback you all may have would be very much appreciated! The rating may change due to later chapters.

It was cold, so very very cold. The chill of the whipping wind stabbed straight into the bone, the freezing snow stinging skin. All around was nothing but white, shimmering under the glow of the moon which was just as baron as the world around. A shudder wracked the small Bosmer’s body, her hands gripped tighter to her frozen tan arms as more snow hit her bare skin. She tried looking around once more as she forced herself up on weak shaky legs. She was so cold she could barely feel anything, accept the constant sting of the ice collecting on her body. Squinting her dark black eyes she saw something burning in the distance. With pure will power to live she pushed forward against the wind, seeking warmth and refuge from the blistering cold.

~~

The caress of soft warm fur against her bare body pulled her eyes open once more, her mind was hazed as she looked up at the wooden rafters of the ceiling above her. The smell of a fire and cloves hit her nose, filling her with another sort of warmth…not physical but emotional. It felt familiar, safe. A hand suddenly rested on her forehead, rough and calloused but gentle. It was only moments before she found who it belonged to, an elderly woman whose face was as worn as her hand. A soft smile broke through the wrinkled crevices of the woman’s face, her thumb brushing over the elf’s soft skin.

“You’ve finally woken, good. I was beginning to think you were lost.” She hummed; it was no surprise that her voice was as gruff as the rest of her. What caught the elf’s attention though was the accent; it struck her as foreign…though she couldn’t seem to recall anyone sounding any different from her. “I found you outside of my cabin, half buried in the snow and barely alive.” The woman continued regardless of the Bosmer’s silence. “It’s a miracle one of your kind survived, you are a fighter. That’s good.”

The woman’s hand slipped from the soft tan skin as she stood and turned towards the fireplace. “I was just about to prepare something warm for us to eat, do you have any preferences?” she asked in a polite tone, keeping her gaze on the many herbs and such hanging from the mantel piece.

“Venison.” The word escaped the elf’s mouth before she’d even had a chance for thought, though her own voice was soft and smooth compared to the other woman’s it held a familiarity to it. It took her a moment to realize it even was her voice, she’d half expected to turn and find someone else in the home as well. Her accent was a whimsical lilt compared the harsh one of the elder woman currently putting a pot above the fire.

“Mm as I should expect from a wood elf. I have to ask, what brought one of you so far from Valenwood? Especially in such condition, the winter here in Skyrim is harsh even to the most well-dressed of Nords.” A gruff laugh rumbled in the woman’s lungs. The Bosmer frowned, not seeing the humor in her words, but even more so because she couldn’t answer her question. She tried to remember but all she could see was the harsh white of the snow, a shudder ran through her and she curled up further in the furs trying to force the chill out. This didn’t go unnoticed by the woman, but she left it at that. There was no need to pry into the poor elf’s past if she didn’t want to share; it was none of her business anyway. “Well you should rest more; this may take some time to finish cooking.” The elf didn’t have to be told twice, almost instantly she was pulled back into dormancy her eyes slowly closing as darkness shrouded her.

~~

Fuzzy figures danced around her, faces blotted out of her vision, out of her memory. Distant voices called to her, distant and undistinguishable…until they said one word. Her name, Elorriath. It danced around her like a whisper on the wind growing louder and louder as so many voices called out. It grew into a deafening roar, her sharp pointed ears pounding as she curled up and tried to force the sound back out. She cried out as it only got worse, she felt her body shaking, a strong grip on her shoulders but no one else was around.

“Elorriath!” a voice snapped, her black eyes opening in an instant only to be met with the pale white eyes of a very gruff looking man. He had wild dark brown hair; his skin was weather worn but tight and still young. Dark paint surrounded his pale eyes, smudged and faded. His face didn’t look familiar to her in the least bit but he seemed to know her, he knew her name when only moments ago she herself didn’t. He looked relieved suddenly and pulled her into a tight embrace, his strong arms squeezing around her lithe body. She grunted slightly, tense in his hold, feeling the warmth of his body radiating through his thick armor. His smell was familiar, a husky woodsy smell, like that of an animal. Noticing the tense set of her body in his arms he pulled back, a frown on his face as her searched hers. “What’s the matter, love?” his voice was gruff and husky and full of concern.

Her black eyes stared at him in silence as she tried to figure out who he was and why he knew her name, why had he called her love? “Who are you?” she breathed after a moment, finding her mouth was dry and her throat a bit hoarse. She could see from the way he flinched that her words had been like a dagger stabbed straight into him, as if he donned no armor at all. He tried to push out a laugh in response, forcing a smile to grace his features.

“I’m Farkas, your husband.” Despite trying to hide it there was a certain desperation to his tone, a slight shake in his voice. How could she forget him? They’d been married for almost a year now; they’d been through so much together. The elf’s brows furrowed as she looked away and down at her exposed naked form, the furs having pooled at her hips, though her nudity didn’t seem to bother her. She had no recollection of him or having ever been married but sure enough she looked down at her hand and saw a small single ring on her finger. She looked to his hands and found he had one identical to it on the same finger.

“…Farkas.” She said softly, thoughtfully, the name felt right on her lips. It felt familiar but she couldn’t remember him. She slowly turned her gaze to meet his once more, her lips parting to speak but nothing came out of her dry throat. Then, as if on cue, the woman from before was by her side with a tankard full of cool water.

“Here, drink this.” She hummed before glancing at the man giving him a slightly cold stare. “You need to give her space; she has been through much and doesn’t need you hovering over her like that.” He gave an apologetic look and backed off but still glanced at Elorriath with a longing and hurt gaze. He wanted desperately to just hold her, to revel in the fact that she had survived despite the belief of the rest of the Companions. His own brother, Vilkas, had said it was a lost cause and that they should simply return to Jorvaskrr. Farkas wouldn’t give up so easily though, Eliana was the love of his life and he’d never known as much happiness as she gave him. He had to find her, he had to know for himself if she had survived or not. Only then could he move on.

Farkas sat down at the rickety wooden table as instructed by the older Nord woman, she set down a bowl of soup in front of him before moving to give another to Elorriath. He followed her with his pale eyes, staring until those black eyes locked with his own again. There was no recognition in them at all and it stung, he saw no love no joy…they were as empty and soulless as the day they’d met. He sighed and turned his gaze back to the bowl in front of him. He remembered far too clearly watching her fall from his gaze, the roar of the fearsome beast that had knocked her off the cliff echoing through the rocky snow covered mountains. He’d transformed in his rage, and tore the throat out of the troll; he could still feel the warm blood running down his fur. He sighed and closed his eyes trying to block it out.

The others had watched in just as much horror as he had as Elorriath had disappeared from their gazes. Vilkas swore he’d heard her howl out, most likely losing her control in her fear as she dropped at a frightening speed. They all knew it was a straight drop down to your death from that cliff, she’d hit sharp jagged rocks before she’d finally meet the solid snow covered earth below. After his rage had subsided he bounded over to the edge, trying to see if he could find her but the sheet of snow blowing around him blocked his line of sight much further than a few feet down. He’d let out a desperate forlorn howl which echoed in the mountains around him.

Vilkas had tried to talk to him, calm him down, but it was a lost cause when he was like this. The beast blood coursing through his veins blocked out all reason, his emotions and instincts took over entirely. He’d barely given his brother or any of the other companions a chance to tell him she was long gone before he was darting off. His hands and feet crashed into the snow pushing him forward and back down the mountain the way they’d come up it. He had to hurry, he had to find her before the snow had buried her. He had to find her.

Farkas was snapped from his thoughts when he heard the sweet song of his wife’s voice, a soft whisper that sounded more like a yell in the eerie silence of the cabin. Still it was like honey to him, it made his body warm and his heart light even if the words stung. “You are my husband?” is what she’d asked, as if she needed to hear it again to be sure of its truth. He gave a small nod, turning his gaze back to her. He could feel the scrutinizing look of the Nord woman by the fire, watching him like a hawk as if to attack should he say the slightest thing wrong.

“…Will you tell me how we met then? I…I want to remember but all I see is snow and…it hurts.” Elorriath let out a heavy sigh, turning her gaze to her half eaten bowl of now lukewarm soup. She assumed she’d hit her head somehow, though she didn’t remember any blood or pain until she tried to think about her past. She stared into the broth, poking at the pieces of meat and vegetables with her wooden spoon and watching them bob…waiting for her supposed lover to answer her.

“Yes…I will.” He hummed, in his gruff tone though somehow it seemed soft and understanding. He shifted in his seat, resting his arm on the table so he could look at her, watch and gauge her reaction as he told her the story of her first day in Whiterun.


	2. In The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small portion of Elorriath's past is revealed.

Farkas sat before the fire, watching the sparks fly as it swayed and danced slowly in the pit. Embers burned and faded out slowly again and again, the fire remaining sustained by the only mage they had there, a Dunmer by the name of Athis. His magic was mostly destructive so they avoided allowing him to use it within Jorvaskrr but it had its moments of usefulness. At first he’d ignored the creaking sound of the large door being pushed open, assuming it was Aela returning from a hunt, or perhaps Ria come to brag about another bear she’d killed. The smell that passed his nose though belonged to neither; in fact it was entirely foreign to him and set the beast inside on edge immediately. He turned his gaze back, raising a brow when his eyes fell on a small elven woman. She looked bedraggled and upset, the armor on her obviously not made for her as it hung loose and awkward on her small figure. She smelled of pine and sea salt, a pleasant smell and one he rarely had the joy of sensing.

She was giving a wide doe eyed look though, as if she hadn’t actually expected to find anyone inside. He stood up, pushing a friendly grin onto his face as he moved towards the small woman before him. He was about to start talking when he heard a disgusted snort from behind him. “Letting in rats now are we, Farkas?” It was his brother, Vilkas. Though they looked almost exactly alike they were polar opposites in so many ways. Where his dear brother was charismatic yet cold and judging, Farkas was kind and open minded though often brash and at a loss for words. He always said his brother was the smart one. He turned his gaze back at him as he walked up before looking back at the elven woman, he was surprised to find the doe eyed look gone and replaced with a cold determination. Her black eyes were empty and dark, holding no emotion in their depths. She now stood tall, her chin tilted up slightly as if ready for a challenge. Though he knew the challenge wasn’t directed towards him the beast inside growled nonetheless. Vilkas eyed her like she was a dead animal before shaking his head. “We’re not a charity, come back when you actually have something to offer us.” Vilkas voice was cold but stern, and just as easily as he’d come over he’d turn to walk away.

The elf sneered at his retreating back, her fists balling at her sides. She uttered something under her breath but Farkas couldn’t make out what it was. He frowned, brows furrowing as he thought for a moment on how he could possibly make up for the rude way his brother had greeted her. “Sorry about him--” He started but immediately shut up when her cold gaze was turned to him. He blinked at her, noting the fact that she only seemed to tense up even more under his gaze.

“Oh don’t bother apologizing to the rat, it’s not like I matter.” She said simply. Her voice though soft had a sharp cutting edge to it, the lilt of her accent sounding harsh and cold. She turned on her heel, her short dark hair flaring slightly before she stormed back out of the building. She didn’t bother closing the door behind her. Farkas stood there dumbfounded as she darted down the stairs in her irritation, leaving only the lingering scent of pine and sea salt behind her. Once she disappeared from his gaze he sighed and pulled the door shut again, heading down to the living quarters in search of his brother. He needed to know why he’d reacted that way to the girl, he hadn’t even given her a chance to speak before he’d practically threw her out. That wasn’t how things were done there, Kodlak always allowed travelers to prove themselves before a decision was made.

He followed his brother’s scent right back to Kodlak’s room, he paused just outside as he heard Kodlak say something about a cure. He sighed inwardly, shaking his head. Kodlak was seemingly becoming obsessed with the idea of getting rid of his beast, he respected the Harbinger’s desire to spend his next life in Sovengarde but he hated that he’d begun to look at their state as a curse. He cleared his throat and stepped into the doorway, Vilkas and Kodlak both looked up at him with a curious gaze. Kodlak smiled widely and moved to stand up “Ah, Farkas. What can I do for you, son?” he hummed, patting his shoulder. Kodlak was like a father to him, to both of them, sometimes to everyone there it seemed. 

~~

"...Farkas?" the sound of her voice was distant to him at first, but it pulled him from his musings none the less, bringing his attention to her and away from the dying fire in the hearth. He hadn't realized he'd turned his gaze back to it until that moment. Perhaps its familiarity had helped to bring him back to that moment that seemed so long ago now.

"Yes, Elorriath?" he replied, searching her face for some sign of remembrance, a hint of feeling in those endlessly black eyes she had. There was nothing though, they were as cold and empty as the day they had met.

"...I want to lay down again, my head hurts." Her tone had dropped almost to a whisper as she peered down at her hands. Her words caught him off guard but he nodded, moving over to help her lay back down, beating the elderly woman to the punch. Once she was laid down and the furs pulled up tight around her again he brushed away a stray strand of hair with his calloused finger.

"The story should wait, you need time to heal." he hummed, his thick brows furrowing. For a moment though hope swelled in his chest from the intense way she stared at him, her gaze sweeping over every feature of his face as if to commit it all to her memory again. "I will need to return to our companions and inform them that you're safe. Then we can arrange to bring you back to Jorrvaskr safely."

"She will go nowhere in her condition--" The elderly Nord woman had tried to step in but Farkas had whipped around to glare her down with such speed and intensity that even Elorriath gasped in surprise.

"She will go wherever she needs to to get proper treatment." his gruff voice sounded in a low rumble, almost as if a growl rolled through his words. It was not far from the truth either, he could feel the beast riling inside of him. He had no desire to leave his lover's side now, but he knew he must and the thought of it set him on edge. He wasted no time then, making a beeline for the door and straight out into the snow again, he could not linger for if he did he knew he would never leave.

With the small gust of cold air that drifted in from the closing of the door, the elderly woman turned her gaze back to the Bosmer currently occupying her bed and let out a small sigh, taking a seat once more and humming to herself as she took up a small bushel of herbs, plucking pieces of the leaves off of the dried stems. Elorriath watched her until the darkness took her again, and she was once more asleep, cocooned in the warmth of the furs around her lithe body.

~~

With sleep came more dreams, distant voices muffled and echoed around her in the dancing shadows of what must be memories attempting to push through the fog in her mind. Once face stood out now, her vision cleared around him and his voice struck her to the bone like a hot poker driven deep into her skin. Yet no pain came. It was Farkas, with the same loving gaze he'd turned on to her when she'd first awoke to his voice. The surprise, the worry, it was all gone. In that moment she only saw warmth and love, utter devotion in those odd eyes. She reached for him through the shadows, grasping for the one shred of her reality that seemed to remain. She was denied though, her hand falling through him like nothing more than smoke. He faded away, his face torn with pain as a gust of biting cold wind roared past and engulfed her. The ice bit at her skin, stinging her and making her cry out in pain once more but no sound came. All she could hear was the rush of the wind, flying past her at alarming speeds. He heart leaped and the air was knocked from her as suddenly she felt as if she were falling, with a sharp gasp fire erupted inside of her along with the fear. A growl, like that of a ferocious beast one only heard of in tales as a child to keep you inside late at night, tore from her lips as her body suddenly began to convulse and shudder.

With a jolt she sat up right and cried out "Farkas!" Her body was drenched in sweat and the furs had been pulled away from her body, the elderly Nord woman jumped back in surprise, a cool damp cloth falling from her hands and to Elorriath's lap making her jolt again from the sudden sensation of it. Her breathing was erratic as she turned her gaze to the woman whose name she still had yet to learn. "...I-I am sorry..." she breathed, shaking her head as she pushed shaky fingers through her sweat dampened hair, pushing it from her forehead.

"It is no fault of yours my child." the woman hummed collecting herself again and taking up the cloth to run it down the elf's back to continue to help and cool her down. "You were restless, violent almost, and you were burning up like a fire. I needed to help cool you back down." she murmured, feeling Elorriath hunch over slightly, arching now towards the cool cloth that gave her a momentary reprieve from the fire beneath her skin. "...what did you see, in your dreams?"

"Only...more shadows, and the snow." the Bosmer sighed, closing her eyes and pulling her knees up to her chest to steady her breathing as she dropped her head forward. "But I felt so much, there was warmth and love, and then fear and the chill of the snow, it was so cold that it burned...and then it was like a fire was alive inside of me, and I heard something howl. Like a monster." She could feel the Nord pause at that, but only for a moment before continuing to run the cloth over her skin. "...do you know what it means?"

"My dear I can do nothing but speculate, I know little of your life or the incident that brought you here to my home. Perhaps you were attacked by some manner of beast and survived." the woman offered, knowing it would not do much to console her, but it may give her a lead on her thoughts to find the truth in the haze of her mind. "...When your husband returns, do you wish to go or remain here?"

Elorriath opened her eyes again at that, lifting her head up to look at her as she felt the fire under her skin finally begin to subside. "I...do not know. If he is truly my husband, I should be at his side...should I not?" The words felt true to here, but yet she still felt hesitation, there was so much that she did not know, what if they had been unhappy together? Or at least she had been? Would that not explain why she couldn't remember him? She pursed her lips slightly and looked forward once more as her stomach growled hungrily.

"The decision is yours and only yours to make, but perhaps the gods have granted you another chance at your life. Perhaps you have forgotten so that you can create new memories, unhindered by those of your past." There was wisdom to her words, the Bosmer could sense it even now. She watched as the Nord returned to the Hearth to reheat the stew from before, she must have heard the rumble from her stomach. "I suspect it will be some time before Farkas returns, take that time...reflect. It is quiet here, peaceful even in the storm. There is no better place to think." And with that Elorriath allowed herself to drift back into the dark haze of her mind, drifting through what she could feel. There was longing, though for what she was not certain, a faint glimmer of hope, the rough edge of disdain, and the lust to wander. Perhaps the Nordic woman was right...perhaps this was a second chance for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was short, and I do apologize for that, hopefully the next one will be longer. I'm just glad I could find the inspiration to write some more for this story.


	3. A New Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elorriath leaves before Farkas returns, setting off to start a new adventure, and hopefully remember her last.

It had been almost a week since the day Elorriath had awoken in that cabin. The Nord woman, Bolara, who had taken her in had given her new clothes and supplies with which to take with her when she left. The decision had been made on her third morning there, Farkas had yet to return and the Bosmer had had plenty of time to reflect and think about all the things she had been feeling. With the help of Bolara, she’d written a letter for him, rolling it shut with her wedding band around it, leaving her last tie to her past behind. She was now heading south, towards Windhelm.

The chill of the cold winter wind was biting and terribly unforgiving, pulling the fur cloak tighter around her body she cast her black eyes down towards the snow covered ground to keep herself from being blinded by the sudden gust that brought up the soft powdery snow with it. Flakes clung to her lashes, freezing them together and making her lids heavy, but she kept her gaze wide and pushed on, stomping through the knee high snow. This storm needed to pass, and soon. She was not cut out for this cold, and she feared she’d give up on her trek before she truly even begins. Turning her gaze back up she saw smoke rising in the distance, a faint memory of warmth coursed through her, and it was more than enough to push her forward through the snow.

She came upon an alcove of trees where the snow on the ground was not so high due to the branches catching most of it. In the alcove were a small worn tent, a raging fire, and a man who was currently hunched over the rabbit that he was skinning. Elorriath slowed as she got closer, slipping her hand into the fur cloak to grasp the blade that rested at her hip, prepared in case the man may not be friendly.

“Out for a leisurely stroll through the snow?” the man asked, not glancing back at her as he continued on with his gruesome but necessary work. “Or were you actually planning on finding someone worth robbing out in the storm?” It was then that he turned to look back over his shoulder at her. He was a large man, skin worn from the biting cold wind, it was much like Bolara’s skin. There was a younger quality to him though, an odd shine to his eyes, or perhaps that was merely the fire reflecting in them. He had wild blonde hair that was only tamed by the few braids in it to help keep it out of his face. He was a Nord, she was certain of that. His accent was just as thick and harsh as the old woman’s had been.

“Neither.” She finally responded, releasing the hold of her blade as she took a hesitant step forward towards the protection of the line of trees. “I’m traveling south, towards Windhelm.” There was no need to lie to the man about what she was doing out there in the storm, besides she couldn’t think of any decent lie anyway. Why else would someone be out in this dreadful weather unless absolutely necessary?

The Nord barked out a laugh in response though, a howling sound from deep within his chest as he turned his gaze back down to the rabbit he needed to finish skinning. “The winds turned you around, Bosmer. You’re headed back north towards Winterhold.” There was amusement in his tone, he was mocking her. A fire suddenly blazed inside of her, her fists clenching at her sides as she moved closer. “I mean no insult, I imagine you’re a bit out of sorts.” He piped up again before she could snap at him for his rude ways. It did nothing to quell the fire in her, but she forced herself to relax again. “Take a seat, warm yourself up. This storm will be going for a while and you’re only going to get lost in the snow.”

“...I...thank you,” she sighed lowering herself down by the fire on the opposite side from him, keeping a safe distance between them. Elorriath watched him, only having received a nod in return. He finished skinning the rabbit and skewered it on to a pointed stick, settling it over the fire to cook before moving to skin another rabbit. Her stomach rumbled as she watched the fire crackle just beneath the dead creature. “...My name is Elorriath Ivyvale, what is your name?”

His hands paused and he gave her a side glance, looking her over a bit too long for her comfort before continuing to slide the knife between the skin and the fur of the rabbit. “Undvarke the Bearclaw. Elorriath...that’s the name of the Dragonborn. You don’t look like the Dragonborn to me.” His tone was skeptical, and again it felt like she was being insulted. Yet part of her felt as if it were...normal, that most people regarded her with the same disdain as he was. “Then again, don’t really know what a Dragonborn is supposed to look like...”

Elorriath’s brows furrowed as she shifted, tucking her knees up under her chin and hugging her legs close. “I don’t know what a Dragonborn even is, or if I am it. I just know that’s my name, and that I need to go to Windhelm...” she murmured, her black eyes flickering back down to the flames, watching them dance before her. She was jolted by the sudden sound of him forcing the second rabbit onto another stick a bit more violently than the one before and placing it over the fire as well.

“Well, Dragonborn or not, you’re welcome to stay here until the storm passes. I don’t have anything worth stealing so don’t get any ideas. Keep an eye on them rabbits for me.” Undvarke spoke matter of factly as he stood up, grabbing his bow and quiver from by the tent and tugging up the cowl of his own fur cloak.

“Where are you going?” the Bosmer asked, perking up a bit, sitting up straighter as she watched him. He was a very large man, and she could see it better now that he was standing.

“Hunting. I have two mouths to feed now,” he huffed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and then he was off, walking back out into the curtain of snow that was blanketing down around them. Sighing she sank back down and turned her gaze back to the rabbits to watch them cook. Her black eyes wandered down to the flames again and for a moment it was like she was somewhere else.

~~

Pulling her gaze away from the small flicker of the many candles scattered across the long banquet table, she turned her black eyes up to see a man lounging somehow comfortably in the large stone throne he was perched upon. Despite his tired and worn look, the man held an intimidating air, power radiating from him in waves. To his side stood another Nord, wearing the pelt of a bear, it’s maw open to rest its head atop the man’s. Elorriath had always found the use of the creature’s hide in such a way seemed...vain. They were showing off their kill instead of simply making the most of the resources the kill gave them.

“He’s a true Nord, he’ll come around.” the voice that sounded was a low rumble, like thunder drifting through the darkened clouds of a storm, a warning of the oncoming lightning strike. It was the man sitting on the throne who had spoken, his voice adding to his intimidation, but lighting a spark of interest in her. She’d always found power to be an oddly alluring feature.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, we’ve intercepted couriers from Solitude. The Empire is putting a great deal of pressure on Whiterun.” the man in the bear pelt replied, his own voice gruff, as if he’d spent too many nights breathing in the harsh burn of smoke. Elorriath knew what they were talking about, the civil war that was rising between the Empire and The Stormcloaks. The man in the throne was Jarl Ulfric, the leader of the Stormcloaks. The man speaking to him must be Galmar Stone-Fist, his second-in-command. It was as if this was all becoming clearer and clearer to her the more she watched them, like a puzzle piecing itself together till finally she could see the final picture.

“What would you have me do?” Ulfric sounded almost irritated, and it was then that Elorriath realized they hadn’t even noticed she was there. It was like she were nothing more than another tapestry hanging from the wall.

“If he’s not with us, he’s against us.” Galmar’s words weren’t upfront with the meaning, but his tone insinuated plenty. He wanted Ulfric to give the orders to attack Whiterun.

~~

“I thought I told you to watch the rabbits.” a voice snapped Elorriath back out of her thoughts, her black eyes blinking as she looked up at Undvarke as he lowered himself down onto a knee by the fire, laying two more dead rabbits beside him. He turned the sticks over to twist the rabbits over, allowing the other side to cook. They weren’t bad, just a little crispier than was preferred. “You shouldn’t stare into the fire so long, it’ll hurt your eyes.” he murmured. “Not to mention dropping your guard like that is dangerous, what if a bear had wandered upon you? You’d be long dead.”

“I--yes, you’re right.” she sighed shaking her head frantically. “I was...thinking about something, and I got lost in my thoughts. It won’t happen again.” she was telling herself that more than him though. What she’d seen looking into the fire was now nothing more than a hazy whisper drifting away in the wind with the snow. She saw a faint glimpse of their faces, heard their voices only as ghosts dancing in the back of her mind. One thing stood out though, the name Ulfric. It meant something to her, and she needed to found out what. “Does the name Ulfric mean anything to you?”

“...Yes, that’s the Jarl of Windhelm, the leader of the Stormcloaks.” a bit of pride seemed to well in the Nord when he spoke of this man. “You must be new to Skyrim if you’re asking me that.”

“...In a sense.” she murmured, turning her gaze to the rabbits over the fire again to watch them better than she had before. “What are your plans, once the storm passes?” Elorriath was changing the subject, she knew if she tried to focus on what she’d seen she’d only get another excruciating headache from it.

“Well originally it was to head to Whiterun, but while I was out I remembered there’s something I need to do in Riften, so I’ll be accompanying you to Windhelm, and then we’ll part ways.” Elorriath looked at him for a moment before nodding. Though she was not entirely certain how she felt about the man yet, she was glad to know she would not be traveling alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will she find in Windhelm? And can she trust Undvarke?
> 
> Stick around and find out.


End file.
